


To die or not to die

by mathsisfun



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mathsisfun/pseuds/mathsisfun
Summary: For Salsita for the 2019 Sansan Secret Santa. The prompt was: unrequited, jealousy, snow, departure, hopeI hope you enjoy it!If the title worries you skip to the notes at the end.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 63





	To die or not to die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Salsita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salsita/gifts).



He opened his eyes and the ceiling came into focus slowly as he blinked. 

Where was he?

The light from torches bracketed to the walls threw regular pools of light on the wooden ceiling illuminating the weirwood leaf carvings on the massive cross beams. This looked like the ceiling of the great hall, though he couldn't recall ever looking at it before, who has time to look at roof decorations. He felt overwhelmingly at peace, his eyes tracing the carved patterns that almost seemed in the firelight to move in gentle breeze. 

But why was he lying on his back in the great hall of Winterfell? 

It all came crashing back to him, the calm instantly gone. The Battle to end all battles. Or rather the battle which never seemed to end, where dawn never came. Day after day of unrelenting attack, snatching sleep when he could but the sun never rising. The heat of battle contrasting with the unnatural unmelting snow. Watching men he knew, poor fighters, good fighters, cut down in their exhaustion. 

It was a fool's errand coming to Winterfell, but an inevitable one. Try as he might to deny it he had always been drawn to her, to Sansa. At first in the Red Keep he'd watched her from afar, but after a while he could predict her coming and goings with relative ease. Sandor just wanted her to be safe, that was what he told himself as he watched her. There wasn't any harm in occasionally watching her he told himself. She didn't seem to notice him unless he accidentally bumped into her.  
Even all these years later he couldn't help coming north to see her. Yet once he arrived the memory of her fear filled face kept him away, watching from a distance as she went about her duties.  
The eve of battle should have forced him to speak to her, but he had chosen wine instead. He would describe himself as a bitter grumpy man easily, yet jealous was not something he normally was. The easy way others greeted the Lady of Winterfell as she directed preparations around the keep through made him feel envious that he was not the receiptitant of her thanks and smiles. 

What had happened in the end? He remembered being on the battlefield. The enemy had got closer and closer to the castle, the chance of succeeding more and more hopeless. As the battle ebbed and flowed he'd suddenly seen a path to the Night King clear after a burst of dragon fire burnt all the wights. He'd run, or more accurately staggered by now, moving down the burnt pathway with Arya following behind him. He'd given up telling her to fuck off inside the castle hours ago when it was clear it would make no fucking difference as the were all going to die anyway. Jon got there first, leaping from the dragon to attack the Night King in person.  
But Jon had been reckless in his single minded attack and he'd not seen one of the dead's captains step in behind him as he faced the King. Without thinking he had drawn the attention from Jon, taking on the captain himself, but weary to the bone from fighting for hours his leg gave way at the wrong moment. He had felt so cold as the blade pierced him, then nothing… 

Except not nothing. He was in the great hall, in one of the beds set out optimistically for the wounded. The beds the little bird had set out with her servants, rearranging to fit the most she could. As if anyone was going to get evacuated from this battlefield rather that set on fire where they lay just in case.  
He thought he'd died on the battlefield himself. But here he was. Was he dead? Every part of him hurt. Probably not dead yet then. But he realised, he couldn't move much. Fuck. So he'd survived long enough to be brought in to die warm. As he'd not died instantly he was grateful he wasn't burnt alive. But, if he was here, and he couldn't hear the battle, what did that mean, had they won?

He heard a slight sob to his left. It sounded like Sansa. Though it hurt, turning his head was still possible. 

"Don't cry Little Bird." he felt surprised to see her now, and after all this time his nickname for her slipped out unbidden. 

Sansa looked up, her eyes betraying the same exhaustion he felt. 

"Did we…" he paused, unable to ask. 

"We won" she smiled tremulously. 

There was something unspoken in her red rimmed eyes and he waited for her to continue. 

"There was a cost. So many dead. So many that must have died and were lost in the battle. We... defeated the Night King." the words tumbled from her mouth as if Sansa herself was having difficulty believing. 

Well at least they'd won. Of all the battles and fights he'd been a part of dying after the one that truly mattered seemed better than he'd expected of his life. But to have her here next to him while he became weaker, did he want to be remembered like that? 

"You must have better things to do than sit with an old dog." Gods it was hard to breathe now. 

"No. You were unconscious for hours, those who need treatment have it, most of the castle sleeps and those others who need...kind words...have someone with them."

Ah, that she should sit his vigil herself. Perhaps dying in a bed might be better than in a battle after all. He felt he needed to know. 

"How long will I be here?" 

"Another hour" 

Fuck. Probably not surprising given the pain and weight on his chest. 

His tongue felt looser than the pre battle wine could have made it. There was nothing to lose from speaking the truth even if no one wanted to hear it "I should have done better" he started hesitantly "I should have told you, I'd do anything for you. You know that I don't do vows, but I would swear to you." 

"The North suits you, when you walk on the snowy battlements and your hair blows in the wind you look like you belong here, always."

Sansa remained still, her hands folded in her lap, a slight smile on her lips. How he wished "Can I ask for" he paused. 

"I may as well ask."

This was acceptable wasn't it, in the circumstances? In the tales he'd loved as a small boy a badly wounded warrior could ask for

"A kiss" 

She blushed at his question. 

As she leant forward her hair fell across his cheek feeling cool against the heat of his skin. He longed to raise his hand and tangle it through her hair.

Her lips brushed his ever so gently. 

It was everything. 

He could die happy.

Sansa stood and smiled at him, then turned and walked away. 

He let his eyes close. 

A snort of laughter to the right opened his eyes once more. "Little wolf" he said "Take care of my horse." 

"No" 

"What do you mean, no? You happily stole my horse before, but you won't look after it if I ask you to when I'm dying."

"You're not dying." Arya laughed. 

"I thought your sister said I only had an hour." 

"Yes, until given your head injury it was safe to get up without bleeding again. Sansa was really worried when you were bought in and insisted on stitching you up herself, but you kept moving so I tied you to the bed" 

"So I'm not dying?" 

"Nope" 

"Oh fuck" 

"What?" 

"Oh - You didn't do a deathbed confession again did you?" Arya stared at him as if she could divine the truth of the situation by the twitch of his mouth.  
"You did. I wish I'd seen Sansa's face when you said you'd wished you'd fucked her" 

"I didn't say that" he growsed. 

"What then?" 

What had he done? What was it about Sansa that made him spill his thoughts and drop his guard? As soon as he was well enough he should leave the castle and be on his way.  
But then, she had treated his injuries herself. Maybe he could stay here a little longer. Perhaps he could watch her on the battlements again, maybe. 

And just maybe speak to her. 

He groaned. "It was worse."

"What is worse than that?"

"I was" He whispered "knightly"

Suddenly he felt something he'd not for along time; hope.  
While he had asked for a kiss thinking he was on his deathbed, Sansa had kissed him knowing he wasn't dying. 

He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> No named character is seriously harmed in this fanfic.


End file.
